


somebody once told me

by PeppyBismilk



Series: Casphardt Kinkmeme Fills [11]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Prompt Fill, Roommates, Shrek is Love Shrek is Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyBismilk/pseuds/PeppyBismilk
Summary: Like shooting stars, Linhardt and Caspar break the mold.Kinkmeme anon said, “Caspar and Linhardt jacking each other off while watching Shrek, please,” so here it is.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Series: Casphardt Kinkmeme Fills [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009218
Comments: 26
Kudos: 86
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	somebody once told me

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this [kinkmeme prompt for Caspar/Linhardt mutual masturbation while watching Shrek](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/476.html?thread=533724#cmt533724). I apologize for taking it way too seriously.

Living with Caspar is by far the worst idea Linhardt has ever had. It’s not that they’re incompatible—far from it. Caspar doesn’t care about clutter and Linhardt can sleep through any racket. They go together like bees and honey, best friends no matter what, and living together hasn’t changed that.

The problem is the little crush Linhardt spent years trying to ignore turned into a big crush the very first time he saw Caspar in his underwear—those tight, toned muscles, the sharp lines of his hips, the sizable bulge in his white briefs… Linhardt never thought tighty-whiteys would get him going but on Caspar, they  _ worked. _

Linhardt doesn’t hold back. When he likes someone, he says so, loud and clear. But Caspar is different. Coming on to Caspar means risking a twelve year friendship, and Linhardt would much rather keep his best friend (even if it means he’ll never know what Caspar’s balls taste like). Oh, Linhardt drops hints here and there, like when his gaze lingers on Caspar’s chest over breakfast or when he brushes against Caspar in the bathroom while they’re brushing their teeth, but Caspar isn’t the most observant guy. It’s part of his charm. He just pats Linhardt on the ass and goes about his day, and then Linhardt has to go rub one out in his bedroom. 

Which is what he’s trying to do right now. Caspar’s in the front room watching TV with the volume too loud and it just makes Linhardt harder. He reclines on the bed and closes his eyes.

The laugh track from that awful sitcom Caspar loves blasts out and Linhardt hikes his shirt up to rub his nipples. Someone cracks another joke, Caspar laughs even louder, and Linhardt shoves one hand down his pants to palm his cock. Caspar’s laugh is gorgeous. If only Linhardt could tickle him in bed, see where he’s most sensitive—he pinches his nipple hard and strokes himself in earnest as the ending credits start to play. Does he have time to use a toy, to fill himself with a poor substitution? Caspar could barge in at any moment—that’s a thrilling thought—but opening himself up takes time, and he’s not sure he has the patience tonight. 

No. He doesn’t. He shoves his pants down and reaches for the lube instead, but the moment he uncaps the bottle, Caspar’s voice rings out.

“Oh shit, they put  _ Shrek  _ on here?”

_ Shrek?  _ That puts the brakes on his boner, and then Caspar knocks on the door and Linhardt scrambles to get decent. He barely remembers to close the lube before shoving it under his pillow. 

“Hey, Linhardt! You wanna watch a movie?”

Linhardt clears his throat and tries to make it look and sound like he had dozed off. “What is it, Caspar?”

The door bursts open and Linhardt flips onto his stomach to hide his erection. 

“Do you wanna watch  _ Shrek  _ with me?” Caspar asks. “I haven’t seen it since we watched it at Ferdinand’s birthday sleepover, remember?”

Oh, Linhardt remembers Ferdinand’s sleepover, all right: thirteen years old, deep in the throes of puberty, lying awake next to Caspar and wondering why his stomach was full of butterflies. 

Part of him wants to throw Caspar out and wank himself to sleep, but watching movies with Caspar is fun, not to mention a much less pathetic way to spend his night. 

“Very well.” He keeps his face in the pillow. “Go make some popcorn while I try to wake up.”

“Okay!” Caspar bounds off, but a second later, his heavy footsteps return, and he slaps Linhardt on the ass. “Don’t you dare fall asleep again!” 

No danger of that, only now Linhardt has to meditate his hard-on away again. Does he have a spanking fetish on top of everything else? He tables it as something to explore the next time he finds a suitable partner, but that happens less and less the more time he spends with Caspar. 

Telltale pops from the kitchen drag him out of bed—Caspar always leaves popcorn in the microwave too long, so Linhardt rescues it and pours it into a bowl. Caspar’s waiting on the couch, and he blushes when Linhardt walks in. It’s not fair for anyone to be this cute.

“Sorry,” Caspar says with a wince. “I was gonna get it!” 

“Sure you were.” Linhardt sits down and flicks a piece of popcorn in his direction. Caspar catches it in his mouth and grins. 

Not fair at all.

The opening credits hit Linhardt with a wave of nostalgia. “I forgot all about this obnoxious song.”

“Hey, I like it!” Caspar has the popcorn now, and he pelts Linhardt with three pieces at once. 

Linhardt doesn’t catch any of them. “You would.” 

“Man, you’re bad at this.” Caspar plucks another kernel out of the bowl. “Here, I’ll lob you an easy one.”

Linhardt doesn’t know why he plays along—probably that cheeky little smirk—but he opens his mouth and tries to predict the popcorn’s trajectory.

He fails.

“Seriously?!” Caspar shakes his head in amusement and tries again and again. Linhardt misses every time, and now he’s surrounded by little piles of popcorn. 

“This is why you’re the athlete.” 

“Well, here’s one you can’t miss.” 

And the next thing Linhardt knows, Caspar’s fingers are in his mouth. Popcorn, too, but it’s hard to care when he can taste the butter and salt on Caspar’s skin. If this is part of the game, Linhardt doesn’t understand the rules, but he can’t help himself. He licks Caspar’s thumb, slow and deliberate (in case this is his only chance). With an honest-to-goodness shiver, Caspar withdraws his fingers, leaving the popcorn behind. 

Another annoying song—the one about piña coladas—starts to play and Linhardt crunches the kernel. 

“Is that okay?” Caspar asks slowly. “What I just did?”

Linhardt swallows. He doesn’t know where Caspar’s going with this, but he nods.

When Caspar speaks again, he’s unusually quiet. “Would it be okay if we did it a ome more?”

Once more, Linhardt nods, because if he opens his mouth he might say something like  _ you could handcuff me to the bed and fuck my throat so deep I lose my voice for a week and that would be okay. _ But that’s probably too intense. 

Caspar sets the bowl between them and leans in. Linhardt’s mouth falls open as Caspar takes his hand—are they going to kiss? But just before their lips touch, Caspar draws two of Linhardt’s fingers into his mouth. 

It’s not a kiss, but it’s almost as good, and Linhardt can’t stop himself from moaning. Caspar sucks on his fingertips, pulling them deeper until his lips close around the knuckles. When he swirls his tongue around them, Linhardt closes his eyes, and it takes everything he has not to touch himself. Caspar sucks all the way down to his palm but Linhardt’s the one who chokes, and he can’t resist anymore—he strokes his mostly-hard dick through his pants and groans in relief.

Caspar makes a noise, too, something like a grunt, and Linhardt opens his eyes. Caspar’s looks divine sucking on his fingers, and he’s rubbing himself off too, only his hand is inside his pants. 

It’s unreasonably hot. The only thing that would be hotter is—Linhardt says it, since Caspar can’t talk. “Let me do that.”

Caspar nods, eager, and hurries to undo his pants.  _ I’m going to see his cock, his huge, beautiful cock, _ sings Linhardt’s brain, and just a glimpse of his underwear, so bright it must be brand new, has Linhardt’s hand moving faster on his own crotch. 

He pulls his fingers from Caspar’s mouth with a wet pop and Caspar shoves his pants down.  _ Fuck,  _ he’s massive, and Linhardt’s mouth waters—Caspar could stick that gorgeous cock anywhere: in his mouth, between his thighs, deep in his ass, and Linhardt would thank him and ask for another. But right now, he just wants it in his hand, and Caspar already slicked him up. 

His fingers close around Caspar’s shaft and Caspar gasps. Shrek and Donkey are talking about ogres and onions, but all Linhardt cares about is the hot, throbbing cock in his hand and the way Caspar moans when he pumps it. Linhardt mirrors the rhythm he’s using on himself until Caspar cries, “I wanna touch you, too!”

“ _Yes_.” Linhardt doesn’t care how desperate he sounds. He pushes his sweatpants down and his heart jumps when Caspar licks a stripe across his own hand and reaches over. 

The only thing better than jerking Caspar is doing it while Caspar’s jerking him. Caspar’s hand is big and quick like the rest of him, and it’s not long before he figures out just how much pressure Linhardt needs. Linhardt’s learning, too; Caspar whimpers when Linhardt rubs his slit, and his jut out in a pout that begs to be kissed. Linhardt strangles a pillow in his other hand instead and calls out Caspar’s name.

Caspar must like that, because he groans out loud and pulls his shirt up to his mouth. Hem between his teeth, he twists one nipple while Linhardt twists the head of his cock. 

“That’s so hot,” Linhardt can’t help but say as Caspar switches to the other side. It sounds so ineloquent but he doesn’t care because even if this never happens again, knowing Caspar likes having his nipples played with is enough fodder for years of masturbation. His own ache for relief beneath his shirt, but he can’t seem to release the pillow and he’s definitely not letting go of Caspar’s cock. 

Faster and faster, they work each other, the movie all but forgotten, and Linhardt pulls tight from his balls to his core.

“Caspar, I’m going to—”

“Me too, Lin, I—”

It’s too close to call. They both come with a cry; Linhardt curls forward and Caspar falls back on the couch but neither of them let up, carrying each other through every wave of pleasure. 

The afterglow is bliss, and Linhardt wants this every day. It would be so easy—they live together, they can share a room, they can make love before bedtime and fuck each other awake in the morning. 

Linhardt opens his mouth to put all of this into words and Shrek unleashes a resonant belch.

Caspar laughs; it’s even better than Linhardt imagined, and he forgets what he was about to say. 

“Linhardt.” Caspar squeezes his cock and it gives one last fruitless pulse. “Will you be my boyfriend?” 

Of course Caspar likes him. It’s so obvious now: the flirting, the spanking, the conspicuous nudity. How did Linahrdt miss it? He can’t explain himself, but he can kiss Caspar, so he does.

No one turns into an ogre (except Fiona), but it’s true love just the same.

And they lived happily ever after. 

**Author's Note:**

> Your friendly Casphardt-loving anon here with another fill. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Title comes from...well, you know.


End file.
